


all by myself

by gryphonfeather



Category: Eurovision Song Contest: The Story of Fire Saga (2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Asexual Character, Eurovision, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Lars Bashing, M/M, Mainly Sigrit Focused, Sigrit Deserves Better 2k20, Translation Available, emotional sorts, honestly i want the cut of this movie without will ferrell in it, Перевод на русский | Translation in Russian
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:40:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25369999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gryphonfeather/pseuds/gryphonfeather
Summary: The movie cut away from Sigrit and how she was feeling during the aftermath of the disastrous Eurovision semifinals. What if Sigrit got the emotional support she deserved, and love, and adventures, and maybe a pet tiger after all?
Relationships: Sigrit Ericksdóttir/Alexander Lemtov, i don't know other pairings yet
Comments: 11
Kudos: 64





	1. just smile, that's all you have to do

**Author's Note:**

> Just kidding, Alexander’s tiger contact was Joe Exotic and he’s out of commission. Maybe a pet Bengal would be better anyway?
> 
> Edit: the lovely sianova has translated this fic into Russian!! You can find it [here!](https://ficbook.net/readfic/9777576)

Sigrit turned around and walked away from Lars so she couldn’t see Lars walk away from her, away from their dream, from facing the flashing cameras and laughs hurt and alone, Gods… 

She could feel a collar of bruises beginning to form around her neck from where the cursed scarf dragged her across the stage, and used her hand to touch them a bit, push on them, before lifting it to her face. _No blood. That’s good._ She shook her head a little, her hair falling around her. _One good thing in a thousand million bad._

When she turned a corner into an empty concrete hallway, she whirled around and took a couple of shaky breaths, willing down her tears. _I don’t know what crying will do to these stupid fakey lashes, they already itch,_ she hysterically thought, trying to distract herself from her world crumbling around her. A couple of hitching, sobbing breaths escaped her before she clapped her hand to her mouth, wrapping her other arm around herself to try to hold herself together. _Okay, breathe._ “Breathe,” she murmured to herself, “one thing at a time.” This time when she checked her hand it had a pink smear of too-bright lipstick on it. “Shit. Umm,” she looked for something to clean off her face and hand with and eventually settled on the torn right sleeve of her dress that was bunched up around her wrist anyway - she tore it a bit and wriggled her hand free. Licking her lips and hopefully getting the worst of the lipstick smudges, switching to a different clean bit of the fabric and swiping under and around her eyes, and cleaning off her hand made her feel a little better and cleared her mind a bit. _There’s no time to stop at the bathroom, the longer I keep them waiting the more of a scene it’ll be when I do walk in_ , she reasoned with herself. “Now I just need to walk over there. Just… start walking.” She took a step in her too-high heels. “You can do it, Sigrit.” She took another step and almost fell over, another bolt of pain searing up her leg from where she twisted it earlier. “It’s… going to be okay. Get through this for yourself,” another step, “for your family,” yet another, “for Iceland.” As she hobbled her way to the artists’ area, pushing through the pain, she doggedly refused to feel sad about Lars. _Selfish? How_ dare _he. He left me alone here and I am doing the hard work of staying._

The attendants in front of the waiting area looked at her with pity as they opened the doors and held them for her to walk in. An unnatural hush fell over the room as all eyes turned to her. Slowly, ever so slowly, she held her head high and put one foot in front of the other. She… she wasn’t sure if she could smile, but she tried to relax her face so it wasn’t so despair and gloom and all alone. There were booths lined with flags scattered around the curving aisle she was on, all full except for the completely empty booth at the very back. Of course. She couldn’t help wincing when a camera flash went off right in her face, and she thought she saw a phone or two being aimed her way.

Finally, finally she reached her seat, paused to wrestle a bit with her stupid long skirts, and sank down. By herself. In a room that was now starting to fill up with whispers. 

_It’s okay. You’re here, you made it,_ she sniffed a little and tried not to be obvious that she was wiping her eyes. _All you have to do is sit here and smile._ _Smile_ _, Sigrit._ She made eye contact with the people still staring at her and smiled a little, trying to lift her chin. _You don’t have to move until you get out of here after the voting’s done. Something else interesting has to happen, right? They can’t just stare at me the whole time?_ She held firmly to that belief, though it was getting hard as people kept whispering and turning around to look at her, until at last the screen in the front of the room changed and the hosts came on, announcing that voting was about to start. Sigrit braced herself to wait it out alone.

However, Lemtov - Alexander - came striding over to her back corner booth in his fancy rose-embroidered suit with just a waistcoat underneath. Sigrit thought idly that she’d like to take a closer look at the fine stitching work and see if she could recreate it, but jerked back to reality and craned her head up when Alexander started talking to her. “Where is Lars?” He left the aisle and stood on her other side now, his cool blue eyes tracing over her.

When she told him truthfully, “He left,” Alexander frowned a bit.

Then he sat down next to her, took her hand, and said, “Well, I’ll stay.” Sigrit was so grateful she almost started crying again, but he put a warm strong arm around her shoulders and something in her settled down as she shifted to lean against his side. After a few seconds, she realized something and looked back up at his face (his too pretty face with that carved jawline), wondering out loud, “Why are you here? You didn’t even sing in this round! You don’t have to be here at all.”

His eyes crinkled up a bit with his smile as he said, “I’m here for you, Sigrit. See? I even have this little Iceland flag to wave!” 

She laughed a little helplessly, then held up her own - they had been strewn along her bench. “Thank you, Alexander.” She tried to convey her sincerity with all she had, and it must have worked, because his smile back looked happy instead of his normal “I’m sexy” smile. Not that this one wasn’t very attractive too, but it didn’t look like he tried to make it like that. 

Names of countries being voted for broke into her string of thought, and she focused back on the screen. Not alone.

As the crazy night of Eurovision semifinals continued and votes started to come in, impossibly, for Iceland, despite even the Iceland officials saying they were awful, Alexander stayed by her side with reassurances that yes, this was real. He also drew her attention away with small comments about other things like he had done back at his mansion - “Norway and Sweden voted for each other, did you notice? That’s what they mean when they say Eurovision is political too. When they start deviating from agreements, that’s when it gets interesting. Of course, no one can control the popular vote, but… it still means something.”

And when the tenth country to make it into the finals was announced to be Iceland, Sigrit laughed and cried and was sad about Lars and Alexander just kept hugging her, stayed with her like he said he would. 

(I’m going back in there, are you coming? 

No, I’m not.)


	2. artful and artless charm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sigrit deserves a celebration, but also connections and allies and friends. Alexander helps.

Sigrit wanted this evening to be over. She wanted to go back to her tiny, neat hotel room and fall back on the tucked-in covers and fall asleep. But Alexander was being such a good friend, and when he asked her to stay with him as he greeted people, “Just a little longer,” she agreed. He gallantly held out his hand to help her stand up, then tucked her against his side.  _ How is he so tall? I am still wearing my heels, yes?  _

By the time she’d confirmed that she still wore her high heels, they had walked over to Mita from Greece, who had launched herself into Alexander’s free arm for a hug. “Congratulations, Mita Mita - I knew you were going to make it. You should be proud of yourself,” Alexander said happily.

“I am proud of myself and what I’ve done, thank you very much.” Mita shot back, grinning.

They talked for a little bit more, very quickly and enthusiastically, before Mita turned around and smiled widely… at Sigrit? “Can I give you a hug, too?” The lady looked genuinely happy for Sigrit, and she had been so honest before, and Sigrit would like another friend very much. 

Sigrit smiled helplessly, before nodding. “Yes, of course. I would love a hug.” Mita squealed, then wrapped her arms around Sigrit and squeezed tightly.

She backed up one step and held Sigrit by the shoulders, checking her over. “Are you all right? Are you hurt?” 

Sigrit shook her head, then nodded, before sighing. “Yes, I think I’m okay. I want to get some rest tonight and I should be better.” She smiled bravely at Mita, who gave her a rueful look before pulling her back into a hug. 

Someone across the room called Mita’s name, and her head shot up off of Sigrit’s shoulder. Mita turned to Sigrit and whisper-talked into her ear, saying, “We should talk more tomorrow, okay? I want to hear everything.”

Sigrit nodded and said, “Of course! Now go enjoy your day, you won!” And Mita skipped off, light as a feather, to link arms with the Croatian who had called her name and laugh brightly at something he said.

And Alexander had whisked Sigrit off again to make his rounds, talking to the Spanish singers before discussing choreography with the Latvian and Dutch background dancers. Alexander seemed to know and be happy for everybody, making his way between groups with ease and giving out handshakes or hugging them or slapping them on the back. People seemed happy to see him as well. Sigrit couldn’t help but notice that Alexander was including her in the discussions, introducing her as a friend and giving her encouraging nudges. And other people were being friendly to her as well - the Swedish main singer, Johnny, apologized for his friend who had been one of the people taking pictures with his phone when she first walked into the artist’s area. “That wasn’t cool, dawg, and I let him know. You sounded sick out there, it’s shit luck what happened with the staging.”

Sigrit beamed at him, flapping her hand a little and saying, “Oh, thank you! You sounded… sick as well, and your dancing was very technical and cool.” 

Johnny laughed. “Hey, you’re good people! Good luck out there.” He held up his fist to Alexander, who bumped it with his own fist before they walked away.

Alexander somehow made her feel a little bit like she belonged here, in this glittery backstage world of talented people. But after a while, everything started to blur together, and she found herself making a funny face trying to hold her eyes open, and realized she was done socializing for the night.

Sigrit tried to break it to Alexander gently. “Um, Alexander? I may be just a little tired and I kinda want to go back to my hotel. You should stay! I’m…”

But before she could finish that sentence, Alexander was shaking his head and heading for the door. “I’ve congratulated everyone I need to, let’s get you cleaned up and taken care of chop-chop.”

“I’ll be okay?” She tried, trailing a little behind him as he pulled her by the hand out of the wide doors. 

He stopped once they were outside in the hallway and brought his free hand to cup her chin. “You are tired, no?” She slowly nodded, keeping eye contact. He leaned in and murmured, “Then let me take care of you tonight. You deserve it.” Kissing her temple, he moved back to her side and they began the walk back to the dressing room together.

**Author's Note:**

> I watched this movie and loved it, but I did not get why I was supposed to cheer for Lars. He was manipulative even if unintentionally, somewhat violent, and just a dick in general. So I’m turning to fanfic to give Sigrit the support and happy ending she deserves.


End file.
